


Honeymoon

by likeatumbleweed



Series: The Brave and Happy Life of Loki and Sigyn [6]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Honeymoon, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Married Couple, Sexual Content, Smut, but it's really 99 percent fluffy smutty goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeatumbleweed/pseuds/likeatumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all in the title, people. Lots of sexytimez (with a tiny bit of angst thrown in for good measure, because Loki). Set immediately following Illusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeymoon

The post-wedding celebration is still in full swing when Loki and Sigyn leave. The Asgardian love of drink and revelry is too great to extinguish, even when the couple they are celebrating is no longer part of the celebration.

They pull their children aside to say their goodbyes before they leave.

Unna is devastated to learn that she won’t be accompanying them on their trip. Neither of her parents has ever spent more than a few days in a row away from her in her entire life, and never at the same time.

“Why can’t I go?” she whines, poking her bottom lip out so far Sigyn fears she might trip on it. “I won’t be in the way.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re never in the way,” says Sigyn. “But you need to stay behind this time.”

“But _why_?” she asks.

Loki kneels down next to her to look her directly in the eye. “Little dove, sometimes people need time alone, even mothers and fathers. It doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy spending time with you.”

“But Papa, who’s going to help me practice my spells while you’re gone?”

Ari sweeps his little sister up into his arms. “Amma Frigga can help you, Unna.”

Unna puts her head on her brother’s shoulder. “I don’t like it.”

“You’d like it even less if you went with them,” says Eiðr, trying to suppress his grin.

“What do you mean?” asks Unna. Ari shakes his head vehemently when Eiðr opens his mouth to answer.

“We’ll be back before you know it, darling,” says Sigyn, kissing her daughter’s head. “You’ll hardly have time to miss us.”

“Your brothers will help look after you,” says Loki. “You’ll probably have so much fun, you’ll wish we’d stay away forever.”

* * *

They travel nearly two hours by horseback, leaving the comfort of the tall buildings and required duties of their everyday life to head toward the distant Asgardian mountains.

This area of Asgard is sparsely populated, the densely wooded foothills between the jagged mountain peaks and the deep canyon of the river that flows directly to the city. Everything here is soft and gentle and peaceful.

As they round a corner, Loki pulls his steed to a stop.

“There it is,” he says, glancing at Sigyn, his face so hopeful it makes her heart lurch. “What do you think?”

There is a hidden lake here on the edge of the forest. Nestled in the trees is a small cottage; even from a distance, Sigyn can tell that the entirety of it wouldn’t fill a fraction of their family’s apartments in the palace.

“Oh, Loki…it’s perfect.” She is more than ready to be off her horse, and the ride there has done a number on her body, but the cottage looks so cozy, so welcoming, she can’t help but spur her mount into a trot to reach it faster.

There is a small paddock next to the cottage, with a tiny outbuilding that Sigyn assumes is for the horse tack. There is a well-worn groove just inside the fence, an indication that the ground has seen the stamp of hooves many times.

“Did you build all of this?” she asks as Loki helps her down from her horse.

“Not exactly,” he says, tying their horses to a post. “I found it here, many years ago, and claimed it for myself.”

“And…did you evict anyone to do that?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, it had long been abandoned when I came across it, a mere shell of what it is now. I spent years making it livable, sneaking away from the palace alone every chance I had. No one else knows of this place. You’re the only one I’ve ever brought here.”

“Well, I feel quite honored. I know you like your secrets, Loki. That you would willingly share this one with me means a great deal.”

“Out of all my sanctuaries here in Asgard, this one is by far the largest, and my favorite.”

She is not surprised by this news, that he has hideaways hidden from everyone including her. Loki is the type to need his solitude from time to time, but he is not one to do without what he would consider “necessary luxuries” – a hot bath and a soft bed – for long. Not if he can help it.

“What if you were to return here one day and find it occupied by someone else? Someone who decided to lay claim to it as you did?”

“That wouldn’t happen. There are enchantments in place to keep it hidden and pristine when I’m not here. Once I call something mine, I don’t relinquish it easily, if ever,” he says, and the look he levels on her makes it clear he isn’t only talking about the cottage.

“I’m well aware,” she says. “So, this is where we would have come? After Thor’s original coronation?”

“That was the plan, yes.”

“That was nearly fifty years ago. Why haven’t you brought me here in the meantime?”

He pauses as he’s removing the last of their bags from his horse. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I guess, after everything that happened before, I wanted it to be special, and there never seemed to be the perfect time. But something occurred to me recently. You and I have never had perfect timing about anything…and yet it always seems to work out in the end. At long last, I’m learning that sometimes ‘good enough’ is better than perfection, especially if it means moving forward rather than remaining stagnant.”

She looks around at their surroundings. “This is far more than _good enough_ , Loki.”

“You have yet to see the inside. It might be a disappointment.”

“Is there a bath?”

“Of course.”

“And a bed?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “A very large one, as it happens.”

“Those are the only two amenities that matter to me right now. Show me the first – allow me to clean off the dust and grime from our trip – and after, you can show me the second.”

She takes his offered arm and allows him to walk her to the front door. He stops before they enter.

“Wait – I believe I’m to carry you across the threshold, am I not? To prevent bad luck in our marriage?”

“If either one of us is prone to bad luck, it’s you,” she says. “Perhaps I should carry you instead.”

He sweeps her up into his arms. “You know, that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.”

“I doubt it. You like my mouth too much to punish me for it, Loki.”

He sets her down just inside the door; the interior of the cottage is just as warm and welcoming as the outside promised. There is a small kitchen with a table just big enough for two chairs, leading into a larger sitting area. A large sofa and reading chair sit in front of an enormous fireplace, with tall bookshelves on either side filled with books from across the Nine Realms.

“Oh, it’s _lovely_.”

“I’m very glad you think so.”

Loki conjures a fire in the hearth with a flick of his wrist as he leads her further in, down a short hallway to a pair of bedrooms. The smaller of the two is empty, but the larger room is dominated by a massive bed in the center, laden with pillows and linens and furs not unlike the ones they have at home.

“If you’ve never brought anyone else here,” she says, “why is the bed so large?”

“I was intuitively planning ahead.”

He accompanies her to the attached washroom and begins to fill the tub with hot water.

“I’ll bring in the bags and take care of the horses,” he says. “You just relax and enjoy the last bit of peace I’m going to grant you for the next several days. I’ll bathe when you’ve finished…and _you_ can wait for me in the bed.”

* * *

Sigyn is _not_ in the bed – not even in the bedroom – when Loki comes out of the washroom. He goes to the living area and finds her watching the fire from beneath a blanket on the sofa…not where he wanted her to be, and regretfully wearing more clothing than he was anticipating.

“I hope you weren’t planning on spending your wedding night out here,” he says, kneeling beside her. “Not when there’s a soft bed and amorous husband you could be taking advantage of in the bedroom.”

“Now don’t be angry,” she says, her face sorrowful, “but I haven’t ridden a horse that far or for that long in ages. Everything between my waist and my knees _hurts_.”

“Well, fortunately for you, everything between your waist and your knees is my specialty. I have just the thing you need.”

She looks at him suspiciously.

“Not _that_ ,” he says with a grin. “Not yet, anyway. A healing spell.”

“A healing spell?”

“Yes. Aren’t you fortunate to have married such a powerful sorcerer?” He stands and holds his hand out to her.

“It does have its advantages,” she says, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her back to the bedroom.  

They stop next to the bed, his hands sliding across her waist and down her backside. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes in what he hopes is a reasonable facsimile of concentration – but calls forth nothing to alleviate her pain. “Hmm, I’m having a bit of trouble,” he says, opening his eyes wide in sincerity. “I think you need to remove your clothes for it to work.”

“Is that so?”

“Trust me…I know what I’m doing.”

“ _I_ know what you’re doing,” she says, even as she slips her sleeping gown over her head and throws it aside.

“Your undergarments, too.”

 She gives him a sidelong glance but complies, removing them without taking her eyes off of him.

He repeats his same movements from before, this time over her bare skin. “This still isn’t working,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “There’s really only one solution, beloved. I need to get as close as possible and whisper the words directly into your skin. Lie down on the bed.”

She does as he asks, lying straight and stock-still in the center of the bed, her head propped on a few of the pillows.

“Do _try_ to look enthusiastic,” he says, climbing up after her.

“My enthusiasm will be tremendous – once I get feeling back in my lower body.”

She winces as he nudges her legs apart just enough to kneel between them. Sigyn isn’t one to complain easily; for her to show such outward signs of discomfort means she is truly hurting.

He takes pity on her, putting his hands on her upper thighs, rubbing his thumbs in circles while pulling forth the magic required to loosen her muscles and ease her aches. She relaxes at once.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much,” she says with a deep breath of relief. “Thank you.”

“I’m not finished yet,” he says with a shake of his head. “I told you the words need to go directly into your skin to ensure it doesn’t wear off.” He removes his robe and tosses it to the floor.

“And _you_ need to be naked as well for it to work?”

“Well, yes.”

“What kind of amateur sorcery is this? Is this what happens in battle with you? Thor or your friends are injured, and you require everyone to be nude in order to help them, including yourself? Because if that’s the case, I _insist_ you take me with you next time.”

He makes a show of looking perturbed. “This is a very _unique_ spell I’m using on you, Sigyn.”

“Dearest, I’m beginning to think you’re not being entirely truthful with me.”

“You’re a diplomat – what do _you_ know of sorcery?” he scoffs, even as he crouches lower to her body. “Now open your legs wider.”

She does as he asks with a smirk, giving him the access he needs. He lowers his head, gently kissing and then writing his name with his tongue onto each of her inner thighs, into the soft skin that delineates her leg from her center, across the bones of her hips where the muscles twitch under his ministrations – silently claiming every part of her for himself.   

His hands follow his mouth, writing not only his name but runes of protection, of devotion, of desire and love into all these same places on her body. He moves slowly to disguise his movements as mere caresses; he fears she would misunderstand his intentions, that she would think he was treating her as his property. She is anything _but_ – she is his spouse, his partner, his equal _and_ his opposite in every way he needs her to be. It is only to comfort his turbulent mind to mark her in such a way, even if she is unaware.

He raises his head to look at her. Her body has gone completely limp under his attentions; whatever aches she had either gone or forgotten. Her eyes have slipped shut – he might even mistake her for asleep if it weren’t for the soft scratching and massaging of her fingers on his scalp where they are threaded into his hair, her shallow breathing, or the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath the skin of her throat.

She _is_ , however, being entirely too quiet for Loki’s liking. This is something he’ll have little trouble changing.

“You look much recovered,” he says. “Do you wish for me to stop?”

Her smile is devious. “If you _want_ to.”

It’s a teasing answer; she knows him too well, knows that among all the activities he finds himself participating in regularly, putting his mouth on her body is one of his very favorites in all the Nine Realms.

“No, I don’t wish to stop,” he says, and even he can hear how much his voice betrays his need.

“Then… _don’t_.”

He pushes himself up her body to kiss her hard, and as she embraces him he rolls them together until she is above him. In three breaths – with a little maneuvering and gentle coaxing as he grasps her hips – he has her knees on either side of his head.

He lowers her to his mouth just as she steadies herself on the headboard, her taste and her scent filling his senses until he thinks he might spill himself from this alone.

His fingers spread her open for him, his tongue writing his name as expertly across her center as it did everywhere else, over and over, until she calls it out just once between increasingly desperate moans, going absolutely still before trying to collapse – but his hands are too strong and he keeps her in place effortlessly.

He allows her no time to recover; his lips and tongue are merciless, his arms wrapped around her thighs and holding her to him until she is nearly in tears. She drops her hands from the headboard to pull half-heartedly at his hair, but only when the tremors of her body appear and subside once more does he release her.

She pulls away and falls to the bed beside him. “Norns be blessed,” she says. “ _That_ was not on the list of tasks I made for myself this morning.”

“It was on mine,” he says, leisurely wiping his mouth with his hand before rolling atop her once more. “And if I may, I would like to move on to the next item on my agenda.”

She wraps her legs around his waist. “By all mea –“

Her words are cut short as he slides into her. Pleasuring her with his mouth leaves her body so warm and open and wet that – despite his considerable anatomical gifts – he fits himself into her completely with a single thrust.

He cannot restrain himself, setting a furious pace, the familiar tingling in his thighs and gut and groin coiling up inside him almost immediately, and in mere moments he is emptying into her with a groan.

Her heartbeat is wild beneath her ribs as he rests in her arms, his head on her chest. 

“What else is on your list?” she asks when she catches her breath, her hands skimming a slow path down his back.

“Not much. Mostly this. Maybe a meal or two, but mostly just more of this.”

 “I suppose for a _honeymoon_ ,” she says with a laugh, “that’s reasonable enough.”

* * *

The following day, they explore the forest surrounding the cottage.

Loki intends for them to take their time, to leisurely enjoy what nature has to offer – but those plans are abandoned when Sigyn turns to say something to him not even half an hour into their outing, the light through the trees catching her hair just right and her smile as beautiful as ever…the very picture of goodness and decency.

Five minutes later, the noises she’s making as he tries his best to fuck her right into the forest floor are just as good, but decidedly _less_ decent.

Her dress is bunched up uncomfortably between their bodies, there is a twig caught in the fabric of his breeches that cuts into his thigh with every thrust (he pushed them down just enough before his impatience got the best of him), and he can only imagine what might be digging into her back. But her hands are gripping his backside, her thighs firmly clamped around him and her voice ragged in his ear – _yes, Loki, yes, YES_ – loud enough that he can see frightened woodland creatures scurrying off in his peripheral vision.

He barely manages to slow down enough to prevent finishing before she does. As his release wanes, he takes in the vision of her beneath him – her hair coming loose from its braid and festooned with leaves, her skin flushed and damp with sweat, her smile radiant – just as she dissolves into giggles.

“Are you – are you _laughing_ at me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“No, my love,” she says stroking his face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I was merely overcome with joy. To reduce you to such a state, to bring you pleasure…it gladdens my heart.”

“Well, in that case,” he says, gently removing himself from her to rise to his feet and tidying them up with a wave of his hand, “let us return to our cottage, and I will gladden your heart to such a degree that you will never have cause to frown again.”

* * *

On the third morning, Sigyn awakens to rain on the windows, as soft as Loki’s breathing and as steady as his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

She almost never wakes up before he does. She moves as slowly as possible and rests her chin on his chest, using the rare opportunity to watch him as he sleeps.

Everything about him is normally so vivid and focused, but in sleep, he looks less careworn, less intense…to such a degree that she can see the innocence of the youth he once was in the sharp planes of his features. What she wouldn’t give to have met him centuries ago, to have known him when he was still fragile, before he formed such a hard barrier around his heart – a defense she knows he doesn’t lower for many. Moments like these, uncommon but welcome, will just have to do.

She only has a minute or two before she sees his dark lashes shift where they fan out across the top of his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, but keeps his eyes closed.

“I can feel you watching me,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. “How in the Nine Realms did you manage to wake before I did?”

“It’s raining. I think it woke me up.”

He opens his eyes, tilting his head back to look out the window before turning back to her. “So it is. I suppose we’re stuck inside until it passes. How do you suggest we occupy ourselves?”

“Well, there are lots of books next to the fireplace. I thought I saw a game or two as well. We could eat something…talk about our children…braid each other’s hair, perhaps?”

“Or,” he says, pulling her closer, “we could stay right here in this bed, and I can make good on my promise of worshiping every inch of you.”

“Oh, you’ve done quite a bit of that already. How would you like to be worshiped for a little while instead?” She drags her hand down his chest and slips it under the furs, grasping him in her hand to emphasize her point.

For a beat, his breath catches in his throat, brief but unmistakable. “Who am I to refuse such an offer?”

“How self-sacrificing of you,” she says, kissing her way down his torso until her entire body has joined her hand beneath the covers. 

She can feel him draw in a breath to say more, but then she is busy kissing and licking and finally taking him into her mouth, and whatever he was going to say is lost, coming out as a deep sigh and low moan. Rendering Loki speechless is a difficult thing to do, even for her; she tries not to rejoice too much in her victory, focusing instead on keeping him that way.

* * *

The rain falls continuously all day, keeping them indoors. But the books remain unread, the games unplayed, their hair unbraided…and their clothing unworn. They do, however, eventually leave the comfort of the bed for something to eat, blankets around their shoulders – an excursion that ultimately leads to each of the other rooms in the tiny cottage being despoiled in one way or another.

They are sprawled on the sofa in front of the fireplace, Sigyn draped across Loki, when she is finally able to form a sentence more complicated than unintelligible moans punctuated by the words _yes_ , _more_ , and _Loki_ strung together in various order.

The firelight is throwing shadows across Loki’s chest, and she traces them with her finger. “I don’t think we’ve been intimate so much in so short an amount of time since the first night we were together.”

“That was exceptional,” he says. “ _This_ is exceptional. I never realized just how empty this cottage is when I’m here alone. It’s only been a shelter before, a place to brood and pout and wallow in my misery – but with _you_ here, it’s different. It’s like home.”

“Well, far be it from me to discourage your brooding and pouting and wallowing, but perhaps you can do it elsewhere from now on? And we can keep this place for the two of us together? If that’s all right with you of course.”

“I can live with that.”

“You know, it’s just occurred to me that you and I have never been alone together for this long. Not ever. It’s rather…pleasant. And not just because of the sex.”

“I hope it’s at least _partially_ because of the sex. I’ve put a lot of effort into it.”

She laughs. “Yes, of course, and your efforts are more than appreciated. But we’re always so busy here lately…I forget how much I simply enjoy your company, even when we’re fully clothed.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m shockingly fun to be around, despite what others might think or say.”

“You are, when you’re with those you love.”

He pushes a stray lock of hair from her face. “I don’t love anyone the way I love you. I guess that means you get me at my very best, you lucky girl.”

“So very lucky,” she says, disentangling their legs and pushing herself up to stand. “I am, however, also quite sweaty and filthy. I could use a bath.” She pauses in the hallway to turn back to him. “You could join me, you know. You’re rather filthy yourself, and I think the bathtub is the only place in this cottage we’ve yet to sully.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” he says, rising from the sofa. “And I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

* * *

The next several days are, without question, among the happiest of Sigyn’s life – shadowed only by the days she brought their children into the world.

She and Loki partake in more than just carnal pursuits, taking time to explore more of the woods, ride their horses, read books, swim in the lake…and talk more than they ever have in their entire relationship. They laugh over old jokes, grieve over shared sadness, and wonder about what the future holds for them and their children.

The afternoon before they are to leave for home, she finds Loki outside, standing on the shore and staring out into the depths of the lake in fixed concentration, his hands glowing green. She approaches him carefully, not wanting to startle him.

“What are you doing?” she asks when she’s sure he’s heard her coming.

“Catching dinner,” he says simply, keeping his eyes on the water.

“You’re fishing? Since when does a prince of Asgard need to know how to do that?”

He huffs in indignation. “You give me so little credit. I can’t very well starve when I’m out here alone, now can I? Besides, you need to know that I can provide for you should we suddenly become destitute.”

“Is destitution something I should be worrying about?”

“Who knows? I may suddenly decide to waste the entirety of my fortune on drink and women…but I’ll still be able to catch you a fish.”

“And how is that, exactly? Even _I_ know that fishing usually involves a pole or a hook of some sort.”

“Not for me it doesn’t. Come look.”

She moves closer, following his gaze out into the clear water and grinning at what she sees.

He has conjured a net not far from the shore. As she watches, he projects the image of three enormous predator fish in the distance. A school of smaller, edible fish changes course to avoid them – and swims directly into the net.

Loki closes his fist and lifts his hand, and the net rises out of the water, filled with more wriggling fish than the two of them could eat in a week. His smile as he turns to her is nearly blinding in its brilliance.

She claps in appreciation. “That was amazing, Loki…even if it _was_ cheating.”

“I never cheat, Sigyn. I merely use my strengths to my advantage.”

“And you’re certainly excellent at that, my love.” With sudden inspiration, she steps closer to him, pushing the neckline of her dress aside. “You know, I have strengths I can use to _my_ advantage as well.”

His eyes flick to her bare shoulder, and she uses his momentary distraction to put her hand on his arm – and push him into the water. The net full of fish splashes down just as he does.

She is doubled over in laughter when he surfaces seconds later.

“I hope you’re happy,” he says. “I’m going to have to catch those again.”

“It was worth it. And it shouldn’t be too much trouble for you, acclaimed sorcerer that you are.”

“You do realize I can’t let such a blatant act of impudence go unpunished.” There is a flash of green as he emerges from the water…totally nude and soaking wet.

Sigyn is suddenly too interested in the rivulets of water running from his hair, over his torso and down his legs; she doesn’t even register that he’s close enough to pick her up until she finds herself thrown over his shoulder.

“Oh, please! I’m sorry! Don’t throw me in the water!” she squeals.

“I don’t intend to,” he says, marching back to the cottage. “I have better plans for you, Ambassador Aradottir.”

She slaps unconvincingly at his back. “But what about dinner?”

“It can wait.”

* * *

_They are in their chambers in the palace._

_Sigyn is standing by the vanity, braiding a length of her hair before snipping it from her head and handing it to him._

_“Keep this with you. To remember me.”_

_He takes it from her._

_“I love you, Loki,” she says._

_He doesn’t respond in kind, pulling her closer instead, and before she can stop him he has the braid around her throat._

_“You should never have trusted me, Sigyn,” he says through gritted teeth, effortlessly cutting off her air so she can’t respond. “I’m not a good man. I’ll never be a good man. I only bring death and destruction to everything I touch – even you.” He pulls the braid tighter, until it’s nearly cutting into the soft skin above her pulse._

_Her hands scrabble at the braid, but she has no hope of overcoming his strength. She tries to scratch at his face instead, her tear-filled eyes pleading with him to stop hurting her, but he is unmoved. He swats her hands away, even as he lifts her up by the throat, until finally she is hanging limp. He releases her, and she falls to the floor in a heap – just as the doors to their rooms slam open._

_Their children are standing there. They take in their mother’s lifeless body and as one raise their hands to point at him accusingly. “You’re a killer, Father,” they say, their voices harmonious in their judgment. “A killer…a killer…A KILL –“_

Loki wakes with a jerk, for a moment completely disoriented, fear caught in his throat like a stone. The moment he catches his breath, he looks to his side to find his wife; she has drifted away from him in her sleep, undisturbed by his restless movements.

He moves closer to her, resting his hand on her bare hip to reassure himself that she is real – that she’s not an apparition sent to haunt him. That she is safe and unharmed.

His fingers flex and relax in a slow rhythm, soothed by the warmth of her skin beneath his palm, the solidity of her frame in his hand. It’s a nervous habit, one that only appears when he’s had a nightmare like this one.

Iterations of this same dream have occurred countless times in the years since his release from prison, evolving as their family has evolved, but always ending the same way: Sigyn, dead at his feet, by _his_ hand.

He tries his best to keep the secrets he holds from his wife to a bare minimum, but he has never told her of this recurrent nightmare, fearing that she would worry for her safety or his sanity if he did. Each time he wakes from it, however, his longing for comfort in her arms is overpowering in its severity. This night is no different.

His hand slips up higher, pushing her hair away from her neck so he can kiss a path between her shoulder and her ear. She starts to stir.

“Are you awake?” he whispers, fitting his body tightly against hers.

“I am now,” she breathes, peering over her shoulder to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you,” he says. “Tell me you’re mine.”

She smiles sleepily up at him in the dim night light, stroking his face in her hand. “You have me, and I’m yours.”

“Say it again,” he says, his voice urgent and insistent. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Her smile fades, her eyes darkening. There is a fierce understanding in her gaze, an unspoken acknowledgment of what he really needs from her. A declaration, from her words and from her body, that he is enough for her. That he can please, provide, protect, sustain. That _to_ her and _for_ her, he is a good man, no matter what his brain might trick him into thinking.  

“I’m _yours_ , Loki. And you are _mine_.”

“Yes, beloved. I am yours.”

He pushes her gently, encouraging her to roll over onto her stomach, and she does not resist him. He can’t face her right now. Even in the dark, the open need in his face would be too much and she would deduce there is more he’s not telling her. He throws the furs and linens back to move over her unimpeded, gripping her hips to pull her up to her knees.

She has acquired the habit recently, when he takes her like this at home, of keeping her upper body flat on the bed and burying her head in her pillow to muffle her cries. He detests it, much preferring to hear the noises she makes in their lovemaking, yet he almost always relents; their chambers in the palace are cavernous, and the children are not far away – the sounds echo far more than she is comfortable with.

In her half-drowsy state, she positions herself that way automatically. But here, they are alone, and Loki is having none of it.

“No,” he says, reaching down beneath her, his hand sliding up her chest and gently lifting her torso until she props herself up with her hands. “You haven’t been quiet once all week…why start now?”

The fingers of his right hand caress her throat – her smooth, unblemished, _uninjured_ throat – as his legs wedge between hers to open her up to him. He curls his body over hers, tracing the length of her spine with his nose, stopping every few inches to press kisses into her skin, until his chest is flush with her back and his face is rested into her neck. His left hand comes to rest over hers, their wedding rings clinking as he threads their fingers together.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he says once more, rocking his hips forward, stretching and filling her.

“I-I’m… _oh yes_ …I’m yours, Loki. Only yours.”

“I wish you could see what I see, Sigyn. That you could feel what I feel,” he says, thrusting slowly. “How beautiful you are when I take you. How your body feels when I’m inside you.” He retreats from her, nearly severing their connection before surging forward again and again, burying himself to the hilt each time.

He clamps his mouth onto her shoulder to suppress a moan, sucking a mark into the skin there – a mark he’ll need to remember to heal in the morning before they leave for home. But this night, he isn’t thinking about any of that. He’s only thinking about how much she pleases him, and how badly he wants to please her.

She puts an arm up around his neck, keeping him close. “You feel so good, my love, _so_ good,” she says, and that is all the encouragement he needs. He steals her breath from her as he starts to move faster, deeper, harder – pushing himself to the very limits of what he can take before he completely loses control.

He slips his hand down her torso to the soaked skin where they are joined, spreading and manipulating her body in exactly the way he knows will push her over the edge, and she doesn’t disappoint. With a final string of _yes, yes, YES_ , she is falling apart in his arms, and he in hers, and in this moment he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the Nine Realms for all the thrones and crowns contained within them.

They stay like that for a shuddering breath or two, utterly motionless save for a tremor here and there. Loki can hear a faint murmuring as he comes back to himself, and it takes him a second to realize it’s _him_ , whispering _I love you_ over and over again into the damp hair at the nape of Sigyn’s neck.

“I love you, too,” she says, every time, and he is once again grateful she’s faced away from him.

It wouldn’t do for her to see him weep.

* * *

“I wish we could stay longer,” says Sigyn as Loki saddles their horses the next morning. “Though, I _am_ eager to see the children again. Do you think they missed us too much?”

“Ari and Eiðr? No. I’m also fairly certain Unna forgot all about us by the end of the first day. Between my mother, your mother, Dalla, Ari, and everyone else other than Eiðr, we’ll be lucky if she isn’t the most spoiled little girl to ever exist in Asgard.”

“She already was, no thanks to _you_. Perhaps a break from your overindulgence is just the thing to keep her tolerable.”

“Me? Overindulgent? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sigyn looks back at the cottage once more. “Will you promise to bring me back here? And not wait another fifty years to do it?”

“I promise. Are you ready? We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Sigyn frowns at the saddle on her horse. “I’m really not looking forward to it.”

“Worried you’ll be sore again?”

“I’m _already_ sore,” she says with a grin. “I’m worried two hours on a horse will break me.”

“I won’t let that happen. Ride with me instead. We’ll put all our bags on your horse, and I can keep you comfortable.”

“Is this a trick? I’m not having sex with you on a horse, Loki.”

“No trick, and no sex. For the rest of _this_ day, you can consider me fully sated,” he says, pulling her into his arms. “But _tomorrow_? No promises.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo...this may have gotten away from me a bit. The overarching point - and I try to have one in everything I write - is that Loki needs a LOT of reassurance from Sigyn that he is everything she wants and needs in a husband and partner, even fifty years into their relationship. That, and also, there's a lot of sex to be had when you're alone for a week. :D


End file.
